


men have scars, women mysteries

by ipreferapple



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Complex Relationship, F/F, Ok maybe a bit of plot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut, Tiniest bit of plot, if you can even call it that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 07:29:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20224117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ipreferapple/pseuds/ipreferapple
Summary: It began with wanting to take her from Jaime. To own her in a way he never could, never would, but then she’d actually had her. Brienne under her, coming undone—undoing all of Cersei’s resolve made of whim and spite.





	men have scars, women mysteries

**Author's Note:**

> Consider these missing scenes from seasons 4 and 7. 
> 
> It's all canon if I say so. :)

_There’s an elegance to it,_ she thought, watching it shine in the soft light that burns from the torches on her chamber walls. _It’s almost a thing of beauty._

His armor—_her_ armor, the one Jaime had forged for her, to protect her in battles she was bound to fight.

It brought a smile to Brienne’s face, the thoughtfulness of armor and a sword.

Valyrian steel. Magic she never dreamed she would wield.

It was late. Much past the time in the night when Brienne usually retired, and she was not presentable—not in a tunic that stopped halfway down her thighs—and that was the cause of her startled gasp when her unbarred door began to open.

It opened slowly, subtly, unlike the very act of opening a maiden’s door without warning, and she was greeted first by a flash of Lannister crimson.

Then, there was _her_.

Cersei Lannister.

Queen Regent. Light of the West. Protector of the Realm.

Brienne stood from her bed, cheeks burning, head bowed to utter a pathetic,

“Your Grace.”

“How proper,” Drawled the queen with a voice made of silk. Brienne could hear the smirk, though she could not—_would _not see it. “I’ve just opened your door, walked into your chambers like I’ve every right. Is there no bite to you, Maid of Tarth? No fire?”

_You would sooner execute me than see for yourself, Your Grace._

“Does Your Grace have need of me?” Brienne said clumsily, her eyes glued to the hem of Cersei’s skirts. The golden embroidery of the gown almost seemed to move in the fire light, and it made for an enchanting sight.

“I might, yes.” She walked towards Brienne, all power, all a lioness; their difference in height forced their gazes to meet. Those viridescent eyes should have been familiar to her as she’d looked into their twins so many times, she knew every delicate line and diminutive gold speck in them. She knew them so well she could draw them.

But this was Cersei and her eyes burned where Jaime’s were cold, chilled while Jaime’s brought the warmth of comfort.

Hers cunning where his could be genuine.

_Twins…and yet they are nothing like one another._

“Pretty eyes.” It’s a compliment, but Cersei’s tone cut away the nicety it could have granted. “That new armor of yours should make them stand out. I’m sure my brother took note of that.”

_Sworn to Renly Baratheon, sworn to Catelyn Stark and now my brother._

“Armor is armor, Your Grace. I doubt Ser Jaime concerned himself with such things.” Brienne argued before she could stop herself.

_ Must be exciting to flit from one camp to the next, serving whichever lord or lady you fancy. _

_That_ is why she was here. Her Grace had found out about the armor and the blade and she was here to stake her claim on her brother once again. Jaime had told Brienne he wanted her gone as soon as possible and it had stung; stung in her eyes and in her chest and she hated him for it, gently as he’d said it, but perhaps now she understood.

It was Cersei he wanted Brienne away from.

The golden woman cocked her head to the side, regarding Brienne, making her feel as though she were wearing nothing before giving a warning of, “You’ve contradicted your queen twice now, Brienne of Tarth.”

Brienne steeled her back, giving a respectful nod she meant not.

“Your Grace, I apologize if I have given offense,” She paused, and then said, “And I am terribly sorry about what happened…to your son.” Brienne swallowed, watching Cersei’s cruel eyes harden a touch more. “It gladdens me to see you well.”

“You’re just so sweet, aren’t you? So good.” The queen murmured, walking around Brienne to touch the shoulder piece of her armor, her delicate hand appraising it softly. She smelled of flowers sprinkled with cinnamon and wine. It was enough to make anyone’s head spin. “He can’t help himself—he has to have your heart, doesn’t he? Armor and a blade meant for _him_. My adoring, _stupid_ brother.” The venom that adorned the words was not lost on Brienne.

She could have laughed.

“He only wants for you.” Brienne retaliates, something bigger than her squandering her resolve to be respectful and possibly preserve her life. _She must know I’ve known about them. _“Are you so blind?”

Her audacity made Cersei turn to face her and Brienne braced herself, but found the queen was smiling.

And she was so beautiful. So beautiful it could have made a man cower.

Brienne was no man.

“You think I’m...” Cersei whispered as she neared her, predatory, almost daunting. Brienne stepped forward, too. Her blood rose to her cheeks, a warmth she had never known invading her senses, even as she knew she should have felt repulsed by the woman standing in front of her. “Oh, you poor fool.”

“You’re the fool.” Brienne pointed out, jaw clenching as Cersei laughed, rich and pretty, and then took a moment to look into Brienne’s eyes.

Brienne stared back; she would not allow the queen to unnerve her any longer.

“Is that what you believe? That I’m here for my brother?”

“You’ve spoken only of him.” It was an accusation and Cersei reacted accordingly, suddenly so close to Brienne that their chests brushed with every breath they drew.

Cersei’s hand reached up—her wine stained lips curling with amusement when Brienne gave a flinch—to smoothly place a strand of her hair behind her ear. The touch startled her,_ moved_ something within her. It was like wildfire touching her when Cersei’s finger ran down the back of her ear, and the side of her neck.

“Because he wants for what I want,” Cersei whispered, her nail scraping gently on Brienne’s collarbone. “he longs for what _I’m _taking.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” _This can’t be what she means. _The younger woman choked, curling a hand around Cersei’s wrist to stop her finger from its dizzying trajectory down her chest.

_Send her away. Say no. You must say no._

“You don’t understand, no.” And Brienne’s hand let go of the queen’s wrist, not expecting the warm hand to fall so softly upon her chest, over the hem of the tunic. She wanted it under the fabric, on her skin. She wanted it everywhere.

_I want her. How can I want her?_

Brienne drew in a breath and closed her eyes with a soft,

“Your Grace—”

“Your Grace?” Cersei interrupted, taking another step towards her, far too close. So close one of her legs was between Brienne’s and her breath tickled Brienne’s neck. Brienne opened her eyes to look down at her, stopping them from wandering to Cersei’s lips, Cersei’s hair, Cersei’s chest as it rose and fell in her gown; her breasts threatening to spill over with the effort.

“My queen?” Cersei’s lips were mesmerizing with the way they curled, almost maliciously. Brienne’s fingers ached with the desire to touch them, feel them. She had never kissed anyone, it was true, but she pondered for a moment what it would be like to press her mouth against the other woman’s. To taste the wine she’d had as she kissed the smirk away. To make Cersei writhe under her mouth like maidens do in songs.

“Yours?” It threatened to choke Brienne, the way Cersei whispered it, looking up at her like she ought to feel challenged, as though she ought to feel seduced. 

“Cersei.” It was meant to be a warning or perhaps an audacious threat, but the queen’s eyes shone victorious, her hand moving to hold Brienne’s face. She swallowed as the lioness rose and placed her lips upon Brienne’s neck, something hot caressing Brienne all over.

“I want you.” The queen said, and Brienne felt the words against her skin, tearing a gasp from her. “Not him. I want _you._ He can’t have you.”

“Cersei.” Brienne pleaded, not sure if she had heard those words as she was bid. Not sure if any of this was real at all.

“Yes,” Hissed the queen, taking Brienne’s face in both of her hands and pressing her lips against the knight’s chastely, taking them away far too soon.

She’d stolen the kiss. Brienne’s very first.

“I’ve never—I’m a maid.” Brienne stuttered, licking her lips, watching Cersei’s green eyes fixate on them.

“Hm…And what for?” The lioness asked softly with enough wickedness to make Brienne’s vision go blurry.

This time, it was Brienne who kissed her.

Cersei tasted sweet and bitter, and somehow like tears. She tasted like rebellion and fantasies Brienne had buried deep within her. She tasted of battle, of dominance—and she was winning. But when Cersei pushed Brienne hard against the wall behind her to kiss her deeper, to press their bodies together, Brienne’s hands found purchase on the woman’s waist to hold her up. To hold her against her.

Brienne would not accept defeat so quickly.

Cersei was rough, callous in the way she took Brienne’s mouth and the way she pulled at Brienne’s hair; the demanding way she thrust her tongue into Brienne’s mouth to claim it.

Brienne was being taken, had, _consumed_.

Her entire body seemed to burn everywhere it brushed with the queen’s. Her lips, her hands, and the space between her thighs where Cersei had pushed in one of hers. Brienne’s hips rolled against Cersei on their own accord, searching mindlessly for relief.

“You’ve wanted me,” Cersei panted, moaned when Brienne’s fingers dug hard into the delicate curve of her waist. “you’ve imagined this, too. Say it.”

“Yes.” Brienne whimpered as Cersei took her lips away, opening her eyes to see the most beautiful and most vile woman in the world look as though she’d conquered it.

Cersei reached behind her undoing the laces of her gown far too quickly for it not to have been planned, smoothing it down her body until she was naked, and Brienne breathless.

Her breasts were full and tipped fascinatingly with pink, not proud with youth any longer, but Brienne’s mouth watered for them all the same. She greedily eyed her waist, her belly adorned with lines silvery and begging for her touch; Brienne had never seen anything quite as perfect.

Cersei smiled as though she were pleased with herself, closing the distance between them once again, hands seeking Brienne’s waist. The taller woman’s heart began to race when she felt Cersei’s hands take fistfuls of her tunic.

She said nothing as Cersei turned them so that Brienne’s back was to the bed and began to push her—she had no choice but to walk until the backs of her knees came upon the bed.

Brienne went to sit, but Cersei stopped her with a firm pull of her tunic.

“I want you naked, first.” Brienne’s heart stopped. She wasn’t lovely or feminine…she looked nothing like Cersei, or any other woman for that matter. “I want to feel your flesh on mine. Will you deny me?”  


“No,” It was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. “No.” Brienne repeated, her hands moving Cersei’s where they held her clothes, drawing up her body and undressing her.

Cersei eyed her hungrily, all of her, and then met her gaze.

“No one else has had you.” Cersei breathed, pushing Brienne back, not bothering with gentleness. She sat atop her thighs, pulling Brienne’s face to hers, kissing her once, twice, three times. “No one else should.”

“No one.” Brienne moaned, her hands finding Cersei’s hair, tangling her fingers in it and tugging. It was soft, like her lips. Silken like her voice.

The queen urged Brienne’s back to meet the bed, hovering above her with a smirk that Brienne kissed away, experimenting with her tongue, mirroring the way Cersei kissed her.

Cersei’s mouth left hers, only to kiss down her jaw and neck, leaving Brienne panting under her.

“Cersei,” Brienne gasped when the queen’s mouth closed around her nipple and her hands roamed the hard, taut skin of her stomach. Cersei’s teeth savagely took hold of Brienne, drawing a pained, satisfied groan. “Cersei, I—” But there were no words for the maid to explain what she was feeling, what she needed to dull the wet ache between her legs.

“You need me to touch you like this.” The queen of the Seven Kingdoms murmured against the valley between her modest breasts, licking a trail down until her tongue met the dip at the center of Brienne’s stomach. The sight was obscene, so incredibly sinful that Brienne felt herself throb with new desire. “You need it like I do.” Cersei said against her skin, drawing back, looking up at Brienne. “Will you spread your legs for me? I’ll make it go away.”

_Or make it far worse, but it makes no matter. I want it anyway._

Brienne said nothing, but allowed Cersei’s hands to spread her, looking down at the desire she’d ignited with triumph and with want.

There was only silence as Cersei ran her hands up Brienne’s legs, thighs and found what they sought between them. She ran a single finger down her center, making the younger woman gasp at the foreign, welcome feeling.

“I won’t be gentle.” Warned Cersei, sitting atop her own legs, kneeling in front of Brienne and still looking like she owned every inch of her. A single finger, her thumb, began to draw circles around the start of Brienne’s sex, starting something she’d never felt before.

“You shouldn’t be,” Brienne whispered, hips moving against Cersei’s fingers.

“Brienne,” The queen breathed, her finger trailing down to were Brienne dripped with arousal, taking what she was being given. Brienne closed her eyes, savoring the feeling when another finger made its way into her.

“Gods.”

“Does that feel good?” Cersei asked, thrusting into Brienne roughly, and out—then back in to curl her fingers and make Brienne cry out. “Tell me, tell me, tell me,” Cersei gasped as though she were fucking herself, leaning over Brienne as she took her, kissing her before she could answer.

“Yes,” Brienne whimpered into her mouth, grabbing for Cersei and finding purchase on her bottom, pulling her flush against her and trapping Cersei’s hand between their bodies. “Yes.”

“You’re so close—wet. For _me_.” Cersei moaned, her fingers deep inside her lover, caressing Brienne’s center with her palm. Brienne cried out, bit her lip and cried out again when Cersei’s hand moved roughly between them, inside her and against her.

“Cersei, Cersei, _Cersei_.” Brienne panted, her body shaking around Cersei, white-hot relief beginning to take over her. “Please,”

“Look at me,” Cersei said breathless with the sight of Brienne coming undone below her, smiling when Brienne’s eyes opened and found hers. “Let go.” She murmured and Brienne did.

She shook against Cersei, clenched around Cersei, ground her hips up to meet Cersei’s.

Everything was pleasure and everything was Cersei.

She heard the Lannister queen give a pretty laugh, felt her kiss her and that’s how she came to. Tasting Cersei’s arrogance and finding herself drunk on it.

“Cersei,” It was all Brienne could say as the lioness devoured her, now straddling Brienne’s hips.

“You say my name so beautifully,” Cersei caught her breath against Brienne’s mouth and Brienne felt as though she stole the air from her very lungs. “I should like to hear it more often from those lips.”

“I want to touch you.” Brienne whispered, one of her hands coming around Cersei’s front, slipping between her legs. “Show me how.”

Cersei paused for a moment and looked at her with a hint of sincerity, a hint of something bigger than this, but she explained it not.

She placed a hand on Brienne’s and moaned when their fingers caressed her where it felt good.

“Like this,” Cersei whispered as though she did not want to be heard when Brienne’s fingers began to move in tight, harsh circles against her warm, slick skin.

Brienne couldn’t take it. She sat up, abruptly, a hand between the woman’s legs and another at the base of her neck, pulling her down for a kiss. Cersei’s hands were on Brienne’s shoulders, nails digging deep into the freckled flesh.

“Don’t stop,” Cersei demanded, her hips moving greedily against Brienne’s fingers, riding them. “_Yes_,” She hissed as her hips began to falter and as Brienne’s hand moved faster, harder against her.

“Gods,” Said Brienne as she took in the sight of Cersei flushed all over, mouth gasping for air. When the queen’s head lolled back as she moaned her pleasure, Brienne’s mouth found purchase on the side of her neck, kissing her there, tasting her sweat slicked skin, moving her hand faster as Cersei grew louder.

“_Brienne_,” Cersei groaned, and it sounded like begging—it made Brienne bite down hard on the place she’d kissed, sending Cersei over the edge.

She whimpered and shuddered against Brienne, her forehead falling against the other woman’s.

She said nothing, but kissed Brienne once more, taking Brienne’s fingers from her sex and bringing them to her mouth.

Brienne felt her desire overcome her again, but before she could utter a word, Cersei was moving off her, taking her gown, making herself modest and without sparing Brienne a look, Cersei slipped from the room.

Her lips tingled and her skin burned, and she was sore between her legs. Her eyes wanted to sting, not out of foolish feelings, but out of anger.

_When I wake on the morrow, it will have been as if it never happened, _Brienne thought, taking her tunic off the ground and covering herself with it. _When I wake on the morrow, it will seem a dream._

But she did not sleep. She lay awake thinking only of Cersei. She lay awake thinking of oaths and how she’d failed those she’d made them to. She lay awake willing herself to regret it.

But regret it she could not.

She leaves King’s Landing when the sun rises—in her new armor and with a blade she names Oathkeeper about her hips, and a green squire to slow her down.

She leaves still tasting Cersei on her tongue, still feeling Cersei between her legs. She leaves convincing herself she will never want for her again. She leaves believing she will never think about _her_ again.

  * .・゜゜・ ・゜゜・．.・゜゜・ ・゜゜・．.・゜゜・ ・゜゜・．.・゜゜・ 

Cersei released the breath she’d been holding when she heard the footsteps outside her door and her men’s firm,

“Your Grace,” She smiled for she knew they had succeeded.

A red, hot thrill coursed through her at the realization and it was almost as good as anything she’d ever felt. 

She opened the heavy door, straightening her back, lifting her chin. She wore a robe dark as the evening itself, but in a delicate fabric, so thin her skin could be seen through it. She wore nothing underneath and she knew she was vision in it. Her men dropped their gazes, feigning modesty at the sight and then lowered their hands from the woman’s arms.

_Brienne of Tarth. _

_If I’ve thought of you, how you must be mad with thinking of me. _

“I’ve no need of you any longer, Sers. You may go.” Cersei commanded, watching the woman pant, exhausted by the struggling she’d done as they delivered her. It widened the smile on the queen’s face. 

Brienne watched the men go with a look so deadly Cersei found herself wanting it for herself. She wanted her aggression, her hatred, her passion. She wanted it all. 

Perhaps Cersei had always sought the dark in everyone—even herself.

But earlier today, when Brienne only looked at her once—once, and far too quickly—she decided that was not what she wanted. Not her indifference. 

Nobody had ever been indifferent about Cersei Lannister; she would not be the first.

It began with wanting to take her from Jaime. To own her in a way he never could, never _would_, but then she’d actually had her. Brienne under her, coming undone—undoing all of Cersei’s resolve made of whim and spite.

“Entirely far too bold of you, my lady,” Said Cersei with her sweetest smile. “to pay your queen a visit when the moon is highest. And if I’d retired? Would you have awakened me?”

Her cheekbones were high and proud and dusted in freckles Cersei found charming, but it was her jaw Cersei liked best. She liked it when Brienne clenched it, thrust it forward, when it worked with words she thought best unsaid. “You had me brought here—dragged here.” 

“You’ve come to me.” The queen murmured.

“Your men stole into my tent and pulled me out of it.” It was not yet a shout, but it was loud enough that it served to liven Cersei all the same. 

“No.” Cersei chastised. “You allowed my men to steal into your tent and pull you out of it,” Brienne sighed with exasperation, cheeks tainted red. “You would have me believe you were dragged here? You would have me believe you couldn’t have killed my two weakest men with a single swing of your sword?”

“You’ve never seen me fight.” Brienne argued, taking a step forward as though it were not in her power not to. 

“I should like to.” 

“Why am I here?”

“Yes, why _are _you here?” 

“I mislike games, Cersei.” 

“It matters not what you mislike. You are before your queen.”

“My queen is another.” It could not have been jealousy making Cersei’s blood boil, cheeks burn. She would not be humiliated by such common feelings.

“Be sweet now, Maid of Tarth,” Brienne’s chin lifted in defiance, eyes darkened in something Cersei could not decipher. “I could have your tongue for that.” 

“I am no maid,” Satisfaction made Cersei bite her lip to will away a smile as Brienne scowled down at her. “and you’ve had my tongue quite enough.” _That_ the lioness had not expected. The crude implication of things past. The telling of things she thought of when she writhed beneath her own fingers. 

_I’ve not had enough of anything from you. Not nearly enough._

She pressed her thighs together, a small movement Brienne’s eyes took note of. The blue in them was breathtaking, now—a shade the gods had only gifted her with. Not even the waters that surrounded the Rock had that deep, bright a blue.

“You think because I’ve allowed you to rut against me that you have a right to speak to me this way? It’s been years and the memory’s grown quite cold.” Cersei snarled, turning and walking towards the table beside her bed, pouring her Dornish red with delicacy she struggled to feign. 

She heard the door close behind her, but she knew Brienne had not gone. 

“Cersei, why am I here?” Sighed Brienne, Cersei felt her lips twitch at the feigned disinterest.

“I had forgotten how monstrous you were.” The queen said easily and with a shrug, bringing her goblet to her mouth. The taste never failed to put her at ease. “Would you blame me if I needed to have another look?”

“Face me, then. Why is your back to me?”

“You forget yourself.” Cersei growled, turning her head just a slight, hoping to see Brienne cower.

“I am not afraid of you.” The knight said and Cersei knew it was true.

“After the way you attempted to sway my brother from his loyalty to me, you should be on your knees begging for your life.” She brought the wine upon her lips again, closing her eyes, but not having a drink.

“My knees don’t bend easily, Your Grace.” Brienne murmured into her ear, her front against Cersei’s back. She’d been quiet as she approached, possibly attempting to surprise the queen, but Cersei did not startle. 

“All they’ve done is bend. For Renly, for Catelyn, for that sad, pitiful creature, Sansa—” Cersei’s goblet fell away as Brienne reached around her and grabbed her throat with one hand, her waist with the other. The spilled wine spread before her bare feet slowly; Cersei thought it looked like thinning blood.

Her body was flush against Brienne’s and she felt her breathing against her ear before Brienne said,

“You will _not_ speak ill of her again and live to see another sunrise, Cersei.” It was a threat, yes. A threat to her. Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. A Lion of the Rock. 

And all Cersei could feel was overwhelming, undeniable, all-consuming arousal. It was bigger than her, stronger; warming her belly and between her thighs. 

It has never been this good. Not with anyone else.

“The hand at my throat,” Cersei whispered, arching her back to move her bottom against Brienne, placing her palm atop the offending, promising touch at the base of her neck. “I want it tighter.”

Brienne stopped breathing against her, cursing softly, the hand wrapped around Cersei’s throat working as if it were deciding whether or not it would kill her.

“Tighter?” Brienne said, squeezing just enough for Cersei to feel it. She felt it everywhere. 

“Yes. And harder.” Cersei groaned, pressing her own hand down on Brienne’s, gasping for air where she could get none.

“Harder.” Brienne repeated, the hand at Cersei’s waist caressing up its curve and finding her chest, squeezing with a soft pant of, “Enough?” The queen writhed and struggled; eyes closed with the bliss of it.

“No.” But it could barely be heard, she couldn’t breathe. Brienne lessened her hold for a second, only one. Cersei gasped loudly to catch her breath, feeling dangerously close without being touched. Cersei asked for what she wanted. “More.” 

Brienne cursed the gods, spinning Cersei around forcefully, a hand still at her throat, but the other came up to grasp at Cersei’s hair. 

She had no choice but to look up and into those eyes. 

_I’ve seen that look before. You hate me and still…all you can do is want me._

“Are you waiting for permission? You have it.” Cersei questioned, her hands reaching for the laces of Brienne’s breeches, undoing them slowly. “Do I?”

“You claim what’s not yours to take,” Brienne whispered, hand tightening on Cersei’s neck again. “You always have. Why ask now?”

“I want to take what you give,” She gasped, closing her eyes, squeezing her legs together to dull the ache. “nothing more.”

“And if I’m the one taking?” Brienne murmured, bringing her mouth so close to Cersei’s that her lips brushed Brienne’s with every word.

_Kiss me, bite me, kiss me again._

Cersei breathed deeply when Brienne’s hand relieved her throat again, panted as she slid a hand into Brienne’s breeches. She licked her lips when she felt the dusting of hair there, and the wetness below it.

“Then, I am the one giving.” The queen whispered, watching Brienne’s eyes screw shut when she spread her arousal all over, using her fingers on Brienne the way she liked to do it on herself. The way Brienne drew in a breath made Cersei’s knees weak.

“Kiss me,” Cersei demanded, a single finger circling Brienne where she knew the pleasure was greatest. Brienne moaned. “Why aren’t you kissing me?”

And then she was. Brienne left all pretense of hurting Cersei, taking her face, bringing it up to deepen the kiss. Cersei’s hand slipped from between Brienne’s legs and took hold of her bottom, pulling Brienne closer against her. 

They clashed and then again, pulling at their clothes, at their hair, at each other. Cersei was lightheaded with the taste of her and how she smelled of earth and the sunshine from after noon. She wanted it all over her.

“Bed,” Cersei panted, arching her back to rub her breasts against Brienne’s, fingers now buried in the woman’s hair.

“I’ll not use the bed you share with him.” Brienne said with disgust, perhaps jealousy. It gave Cersei pause, made her step back to look at the knight, flushed and glorious. Her lips were pink, tainted by Cersei’s kisses and it filled her with satisfaction.

“You have before,” Cersei whispered, her hands running up the length of Brienne’s arms, toned and perfect and freckled. “but the floor is just as good.”

There was fire in Brienne’s eyes and there was laughter, but she only reached for Cersei’s hand.

She held it for a moment, before she used it to turn Cersei around and against her.

“Brienne?”  


“The floor is just as good.” Brienne repeated back to her, kissing the side of Cersei’s neck, making her forget her words. Cersei closed her eyes and tried to remember _she_ was meant to have control, but when she felt two calloused hands greedily take her breasts, all she could do was sigh. “I tried with others, you know?”

“Others?” Cersei asked hoarsely, moving back against Brienne’s body, making her longing far worse. One of Brienne’s hands began to travel down the length of her, slowly—a means of torture.

“Bar wenches.” Brienne whispered as her hand came upon Cersei’s hip, fingers digging into it as she toyed with a rosy tip. Cersei moaned wantonly. “Golden and beautiful, but it was never any good.”

Cersei smiled, taking Brienne’s hand and placing it between her legs.

“They were not me.” Cersei murmured, her other hand reaching for Brienne’s hair, digging into it as Brienne’s fingers slid along her sex. “Oh_, Brienne_.” Cersei needed more, harder, deeper.

“I took them like this,” Brienne whispered in her ear, her fingers sliding in a pace so maddening Cersei thought her legs would give. “facing away from me, but when I touched them, they didn’t move like you.”

“Brienne,” Cersei sighed, her hand on Brienne’s moving her touch further down. “Inside me.”

“They didn’t demand like you,” Murmured Brienne, taking Cersei with one finger, then another. Cersei threw her head back against Brienne’s shoulder, rolling her hips in time with Brienne’s thrusts. “They didn’t feel like you.” Cersei cried out when Brienne reached deeper, curled her fingers, took Cersei’s breaths from her lungs.

“Where,” Cersei panted, “have you _been_?” Her legs shook with the way Brienne fucked her—harsh and deep and so good. Brienne was pressed against her back, kissing her cheek, her jaw, biting her shoulder, an arm around her waist to hold her up, and the other taking her. Cersei couldn’t take much more.

Brienne’s thumb pressed hard against Cersei, _there_, and Cersei knew she was done for.

“You’re there,” Brienne breathed against Cersei’s jaw and pressed her thumb down hard again.

“Yes,” Cersei cried as she came, her hips moving on their own accord, fucking herself on Brienne’s fingers as she did.

“Quiet,” Brienne whispered, leaving Cersei empty, but not yet pulling away. Cersei was certain that her legs would not hold her up if Brienne’s arm left her waist. Cersei’s head turned to Brienne’s and she was being kissed before she could respond. Brienne’s hand was between her legs, still, fingers wet and circling Cersei like they were not done with her yet. Cersei whimpered as Brienne’s touch became more insistent.

Brienne brought Cersei to her pleasure again, pushing her so that she had no choice but to brace herself on the bed’s edge, taking her again—rougher than before.

Cersei allowed it, wanted it, pushing back against Brienne’s fingers inside her and crying out when Brienne’s hand took her hair and pulled. Cersei was at her mercy and far too close to care.

When Cersei was closest, chanting _yes,_ and _Brienne _and _like that, _Brienne stilled. 

“Fuck,” Cersei panted, as Brienne chuckled in her ear, though Cersei found no humor in it at all. “No, don’t. _Don’t_”

“Don’t send your guards after me again.” Brienne said hoarsely, withdrawing from Cersei and leaving her all but spent, and bent over.

_I’ll have her head for this._

“You will _not_ leave me like this.” Cersei growled, turning around, a furious storm unfurling in her chest. Brienne never took her eyes off her, or her body as she dressed, and Cersei did not know if made her angrier or if the cold feeling inside her was her anger soothing away.

“Your Grace.” Brienne said in form of a goodbye, with a knightly nod and bow, and a smirk she would pay for.

She went, closing the door behind her.

Cersei stared at the door until her eyes hurt and her shaking legs demanded she sit.

She vowed to make her pay, to have her men bring her again just to take her revenge. She poured herself wine and vowed some more. All she had to do was call for them, to say a few words and the queen’s bidding would be done.

_But there is something inside me that would spare you, yet. _

The Gods had grated that mercy to very few people who had wronged her.

Cersei drank to think her away, but wine had always felt good and Brienne had the same dizzying effect.

Suddenly, she remembered the goblet Brienne had made her spill what felt like a lifetime ago and a smile came to her face, unbidden as it was.

She called not for her Queensguard, but for her handmaidens. There was wine to clean from the floor.

  * .・゜゜・ ・゜゜・．.・゜゜・ ・゜゜・．.・゜゜・ ・゜゜・．.・゜゜・ 

Brienne was before Cersei’s door again before she could stop herself. She’d left two nights ago damning the Gods and herself, but had found she stood in the Red Keep the following night and between Cersei’s legs half as quick.

Tonight would be the last night, she knew, for she had to ride North when morning came. 

She opened the door, only to find Cersei atop the bed, naked and with a hand between her own legs.

“You’re late,” Chastised Cersei, eyes closed tightly, and Brienne knew she was close. “How could you keep me waiting?”

She did not keep her waiting any longer. Brienne joined her in her shirt and breeches, knowing how well Cersei loved undressing her. Cersei loved to strip her of her clothes, of her inhibitions, of everything outside of these chambers.

Perhaps that was why Brienne could not keep away.

“I’ve been thinking about this since you left at dawn.” Cersei breathed as she kissed her way down Brienne’s body, hurried like she was after something else. “Thinking of how good you did it to me.” The memory of it made Brienne’s cheeks burn, but there was no time to feel coy, not when Cersei was kissing her sex, teasing her with her tongue.

Cersei devoured her, licked and sucked and _bit_ until Brienne could only cry out and shake underneath her, coming undone twice before she pushed Cersei away with a soft sigh of her name.

“Never done that before.” Cersei whispered against her mouth, kissing her then, deep as Brienne liked it. Brienne tasted Cersei and wine and herself. “You seemed to like it.”

“You talk too much” Brienne chuckled into a kiss, taking Cersei’s waist to pull her down onto the bed and roll on top of her. Cersei’s mirthful smile was breathtaking—one could almost forget what she really was, falling into a smile such as that. “I want you.” Said Brienne, biting Cersei’s jaw to make her moan.

“But you’ve had me.” Cersei groaned as Brienne bit her neck, her shoulder.

_Yes. And I want you more._

“Like this. Take me like this.” Cersei murmured, moving her sex against Brienne’s thigh and Brienne’s against her own thigh. It wasn’t enough and it was everything all at once.

Brienne moved her hips in time with Cersei’s, sighing, “I want to taste you.”

“Later.” Whimpered the queen, nails digging into Brienne’s back. “You feel so good.”

It was then Brienne heard it, what sounded like steps, shuffling on the ground like they moved quickly.

Only one person would be allowed into the Keep, into the queen’s chambers.

“Cersei—” Brienne said hoarsely, opening her eyes to find Cersei looking at the door, then at her.

“Please, don’t stop.” Cersei cried, taking her face, kissing her fire anew. “Please. Gods, I’m so close. Can’t you feel it? How I need for you?” The words were sweet, sinful and intoxicating.

_She’s used me._

Brienne slid a hand between them to take Cersei, the urge to claim her, to _fuck_ her far greater than any other her feeling.

“He saw us,” Brienne breathed, sliding easily inside Cersei, biting her lip as Cersei moaned in her ear. “I should go.”

_I’ve used her, too._

“Yes,” Cersei gasped, and Brienne knew it was not in response to what she had said. Brienne withdrew her fingers, pressed herself against Cersei instead. “Please, please, yes, please.” Cersei begged so prettily, Brienne felt as though she could deny her nothing.

_There is no honor in this. There never was._

Cersei peaked, writhing under Brienne, begging again for Brienne’s lips, for her tongue—for Brienne to taste her, for Brienne to never stop having her.

The sun rose when they stopped, or perhaps they had only stopped because the sun had risen.

Brienne picked up her clothes and pulled them on quickly, stealing a glance at Cersei. Still utterly bare, on a bed that looked as though it had been through war, a tired, sated look in her beautiful eyes.

“Have me again.” She said when Brienne finished doing the laces of her breeches. “Once more. A sweet memory to warm your ride North.” Brienne’s lips smiled without her permission and her chest felt tight against her better wishes.

“I can’t,” Brienne whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull on her boots. Cersei reached for her arm, bringing her down, closer to her. Despite the way Brienne’s heart pounded with desire, she shook her head, looking into those cruel, horrible eyes. “I can’t, Cersei.”

There was something between them, Brienne feels it cut through them both like a blade sharpened for battle. It was not love, nor was it hate any longer. It was that there was no word for. It was lust and the relief that came with indulging in it. It was carnal and raw, it was _them—_and not so common as love or hate; songs were never written for nameless things such as this.

“I know.” Whispered the queen, kissing her once, chastely, just once. _I could not bear it if you kissed me again._ _I would not find the way to leave. I would have you and then again, and then more. _“Go.”

And Brienne did. That time, for good.

**Author's Note:**

> For my two best girls. You know who you are and you heard me ramble about this and motivated me until I got it out of my system. I love yall <3


End file.
